Love, Suburban Style by Wendy Markham Page A

staircase.
    He used to sprawl like this back in their school days, she remembers: arms draped over the seat back, long legs stretched before him, a potential obstacle for anyone who happened to pass by him.
    Meg did, often. And she was always careful not to trip… although sometimes she fantasized about tripping gracefully, if there is such a thing, and landing in Sam’s arms.
    And then, or so her fantasy went, he would hold her close and whisper something charming and romantic.
    Something, she realizes in retrospect, no teenaged boy would ever utter.
    No grown man, either, for that matter.
    Something like, “
I’ve been crazy about you from the moment I first saw you.
”
    Or, “
If you don’t let me kiss you right now, I’ll die.
”
    And then he would—
    “Meg?”
    She blinks. “Yes?”
    “You were saying…?”
    She was saying? What was she saying?
    She has no recollection.
    But she knows what she was thinking: that kissing him would be incredible.
    Forbidden, yes.
    Also incredible.
    Hoping he can’t read her mind, she changes the subject altogether, to something much safer.
    “So, Sam… what do you do? I mean, for a living?”
    “I teach physics at GPHS.”
    He teaches physics at GPHS.
    Focus. Absorb.
    Darn it, she can’t seem to rid herself of the image of being in Sam’s arms. All she can muster in response to his statement is, “You do?”
    “I do.”
    “That’s great.”
    What did he say he does, again?
    Oh! He teaches physics at GPHS.
    Think about that.
    Think about anything other than kissing him.
    He teaches physics at GPHS. Meg forces herself to picture him back at Glenhaven Park High, boyishly sprawled at the teacher’s desk instead of behind a student one.
    I bet all the girls in his classes have a crush on him,
she decides.
    “What about you?” he asks. “What do you do?”
    What
does
she do?
    Nothing at the moment, but…
    Oh. That’s right.
    “I’m about to start teaching voice.”
    “Voice? So you’re a singer?”
    She nods.
    “What do you sing?”
    Assuming he’s not looking for a rundown of her musical credits, she shrugs, and says, “Show tunes, mostly.”
    “I don’t know many of those. Any, really.” He sounds apologetic.
    “Well, I don’t know much about Newton’s theory of relativity, so I guess we’re even.”
    He gives her a blank look.
    “You know… physics.” He did say he teaches physics at GPHS… didn’t he?
    “I know,” he tells her. “It’s just that, uh, relativity wasn’t Newton’s theory. It was Einstein’s.”
    “Oops. Well, I told you I didn’t know much about it.”
    He laughs. So does she. Then they fall into an awkward silence.
    He toys with his pizza. She nibbles her crust.
    This is not going well.
    Meg feels like she’s in high school again, trying to think of clever things to say to Sam Rooney. Only back then, she never got the chance.
    Now, he’s a captive audience.
    And all she can think of to say is…
    “Wow, it’s humid, isn’t it?”
    Sheer brilliance. When in doubt, resort to the weather.
    “I’m used to air-conditioning,” she continues. “You know… in the city.”
    “You should get a couple of window units,” Sam replies. “I have them for my kids’ rooms.”
    “Not for yours?” She tries not to picture him in bed.
    “No. I like the heat.”
    Heat. Sam. Bed.
    Stop.
    “I hope the rain cools things down,” she says, oh-so-astutely.
    “It should.”
    “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, too.”
    “I hope not.”
    “So do I.”
    Ho-hum.
    “I’ve got my first soccer practice in the morning,” he says then, and she perks up at that.
    “You play soccer?”
    “No, I coach it. For the town rec board.”
    “Really? My daughter is playing.”
    “She’s probably on my team, then. I’ve got the fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds who live in zone one.”
    “Zone one?”
    “The town is divided into zones… from here to the Main Street green is one, from the green up to the Stonegate Condos is zone two,